Disclaimer: This is an unbeta-ed AU fanfiction. I do not own Kuroko no Basuke or any of the characters, other than OCs if any. This fic is based on an idea adopted from cheripetalz (tumblr).

"Dai-chan, what were you thinking?!" Despite the years they had spent together, since the fateful day they met in the park's street basketball court at the age of five until now, Aomine could never seem to ever get used to the pinkette's shrill voice whenever she yelled or nagged at him in any occasion. "Two Million?! Do you even—"

"Satsuki." Dark navy hues grew icy cold, his freezing gaze merely lingering on the other for a moment before making his way towards the exit.

It wasn't common that Aomine would exert his superiority on others, but one of the things he hated was when people questioned his decisions, especially when he hadn't requested for any opinions or inputs in any way.

Exhaling an exasperated sigh, Momoi shook her head before waving a quick goodbye at her childhood sweetheart before starting on a short canter towards the brooding, retreating figure.

"Number 005. I'm here to settle my account for the painting." Whipping out his cheque book, the bluenette scrawled various numbers and his signature upon the piece of paper before handing it over to the person who was in charge of the accounts.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll have your merchandise brought right out." Bowing respectfully to him, the woman turned around and headed into the interconnected room.

"So?" Satsuki glared as menacingly as she could with roseate orbs coupled with a scowl that looked more like an adorable, petulant pout on her face. "How are you going to explain to uncle about the expenses? And the paperwork! Moreover, you and I both knew that the painting just didn't cut it. Are you listening to me, Dai-chan!"

"Hai hai." Waving off her concerns with a drawl, long fingers tapped against the cold, hard marble of the counter as he waited for his merchandise to be delivered to him, earning himself another disgruntled lament from the pink haired woman.

"Excuse me sir, your merchandise."

Turning around to face the counter once more, he saw that the woman from before emerging from behind the doors that separated the rooms, wheeling the painting out and removing it's carefully wrapped packaging so that he could check that he did not mistake the item he had bought.

"Thanks. I'll take it from here." Nodding his head after giving it a quick one-over, he thanked the woman for her services, tipping her handsomely which caused her face to light up like a child receiving her first Christmas gift from Santa.

However, before the mogul could walk off, a sudden exclamation caused him to pause in his footsteps.

"Wait, Sir!" Recovering from the shock and delight from her 'gift', she called out as her hands attempted to stuff the bills into the tight pockets of her pencil skirt, her eyes unable to decide if she should make sure the cash were now safely tucked away or to prevent the blue haired man from walking off. "Um…"

Aomine merely cocked a brow, index finger tapping against his other arm – a sign that he may be waiting but his patience was running out. "Well? I don't have all day," he drawled, a scowl marring his face.

The woman visibly cringed at the sight of his displeasure, however managed to stammer out whichever message she had sought to convey to him before. "I'm sorry sir, but you have yet to retrieve all your merchandise."

His frown deepened. "I clearly have the painting right here." A hand gestured in the direction of said object that was being wrapped in a layer of protective brown paper.

"I'm sorry sir, I have no idea. I was only told to lead the way after you have made payment. If you might, please follow me." With yet another bow, the young lady extended her hand towards the direction of where she was headed to, a signal to follow her back to the dimly lit corridors. With his curiosity getting the better of him, Aomine followed behind the woman in confident strides, his gaze absentmindedly lingering on closed doors, his mind offhandedly wondering what were behind them.

Realizing that the girl was finally slowing in her steps, Aomine followed suit, only to stop before a door similar the the rest; big, unnecessary and heavy-looking. However, something that Aomine realized was different was that only this particular door was guarded by another male. A sense of foreboding rose within him, sharp eyes narrowing warily at the woman's retreating figure, shifting his gaze back towards the shifty-looking man that was fiddling with the door's lock. His nervous gestures did not escape Aomine's attention, his suspicion only growing with every passing second.

"Follow her," he leaned towards the pink haired maiden beside him, a silent whisper passed between them before Satsuki nodded her head once, a grim expression set on her face. Aomine attempted to repress the prideful smirk that threatened the corners of his lips at his childhood friend – an extremely intuitive and perceptive woman, Satsuki had often saved his ass from many situations. And if Satsuki had sensed something amiss, Aomine was now doubly sure that there was something dubious about this whole trade.

Hearing a soft click, Aomine returned his attention to the man who was now grinning in a way that for some reason, really rubbed him in the wrong direction, the impulse of wanting to sock the guy in the face almost hard to rein in. "Please enjoy your…merchandise, sir." The way he said it was almost like a sick, perverted sneer as he glanced sideways at the young mogul.

It wasn't until he felt the stinging pain in his gums did Aomine realize his teeth were grit so tightly, gnashed together with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. With a brief nod of his head, the man took it as his cue to leave, leaving Aomine standing outside the unlocked door, contemplating to enter. Standing in his solitary silence, he didn't notice his hand already involuntarily reaching for the gold-embossed handles.

It was now or never.

Filling his lungs with a deep inhale of cool air, Aomine braced himself before pushing the double doors open, the wooden frames seemingly a thousand times heavier from his deliberation. He had no idea what he really expected the moment the doors opened. Perhaps an explosion that would send him sprawling into his death, or a booby trap of some sort waiting to pierce him through the chest.

However, none of that happened. The large room that lay spread before him was quiet, deadly silence hanging heavily in the atmosphere. His footsteps echoing as heels connected with the linoleum flooring with his every step. Cobalt optics scoured every single corner of the room, a room that was similar to the one he was in previously for the auction, only this time it was without the gaudy decorations or swarm of humans. And the room would have been empty too, save for the small lump of golden he swore he would have missed if he hadn't been paying extra attention.

Aomine wasted no time in being cautious no longer. He recognized that texture anywhere – despite it being an unnaturally bright shade of blonde that was almost of a pure gold, it could hardly be mistaken for anything but hair in the sculptor's eyes.

Locks of bright, molten honey-colored tresses that was the exact same color as the painting of that angel he had just bought.

It couldn't be…could it?

"Oi." His gruff voice resounded through the room as he neared, the frown on his face only deepening when he received no response in the figure that was wrapped in blankets. "Oi," he called out a second time for the other's attention, waiting in silence for a few seconds before letting his annoyance be known with an impatient click of his tongue. Bending onto one knee, the tanned sculptor raised a work-calloused hand, brushing away stray, ruffled locks away with a gentleness that was uncharacteristic for the dour man.

He was hardly surprised to find what was hidden beneath the layers of gold – the face he had seen on the painting had nothing in compare to the real thing, but Aomine couldn't say he was happy to have seen what he had found either.

Complexion almost gaunt and pale, the ugly redness of sore eyes were like an angry mark at the corners of his eyes, tracks of dried tears caking the cheeks that should have been radiant and tinged with a healthy pink but now lost its color.

But beneath all that, Aomine could see that the beauty was once was of him, a beauty he swears upon his honor as an artist and aspiring sculptor that he will restore to his golden-haired angel.

Letting go of the breath he only realized now that he has held the whole time, Aomine pulled out his cellphone with one languid movement, fingers flying across the touchscreen as he entered a number all too familiar that he can do so with both eyes closed.

The dial tone rang twice before it ceased.

"Human trafficking, Satsuki. You know what to do."